


I Tried to Drown my Sorrows but They Learned How to Swim

by lubilu17



Series: Where to Now? Where can I go Now? [3]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, I'm back bringing angst to the world, They are beautiful, but in a new fandom, its different to the musical but I'm not gonna say how bc spoilers, this ship needs more content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lubilu17/pseuds/lubilu17
Summary: Three things happened at once. Marya's glass fell to the floor, deep red wine splashing against the cream carpet. Hélène stumbled forwards, almost collapsing into Marya. Natasha gasped.





	I Tried to Drown my Sorrows but They Learned How to Swim

**Author's Note:**

> I had to rewrite half of this because I accidentally deleted it.
> 
> Title from Ocean-Vapour by Grace McLean and them Apples bc I love her with all my heart.

Sonya was doing her best to protect Natasha, though apparently doing her bets to protect Natasha included falling asleep by her bedside distant to the world. That was always something Natasha had admired about Sonya her ability to sleep through anything, a talent that Natasha herself had not picked up as shown when she was awoken by Sonya that fateful night.

She’d been visited by Pierre earlier that day, her legs still weak, her tears finally dried on her cheeks. His own tears that Natasha had pretended to not notice had trailed under his glasses, down his neck, collecting in the fur of his coat as he left the drawing room. He’d flinched slightly when she had said that she didn't know if she still loved him, but that might have just been from her ruined reputation, the was she had almost denied he’d done anything wrong.

Maybe she didn't love him, only the idea of him, the idea of leaving everything that had been forced upon her behind. The idea of leaving forced smiles and small talk. The idea of leaving everything behind and living a life of recklessness and spontaneity. They were like Romeo and Juliet and short lived, passionate romance that only ended in disaster.

The sound of raised voices from down the hall caught Natasha’s attention, snapping her out of her reverie. Slowly, as to not wake Sonya, Natasha managed to lift herself, on unsteady legs, to her feet and to the door of her room. Following the sound of the voices down the hallway Natasha managed to work out the source of the two voices, the first, the loudest, was Marya’s (that was the obvious voice, it was her house and Natasha had heard a fair share of her shouting in the past few days) the second, surprisingly, Natasha recognised as Hélène. Finally getting to the door of the room the two were in, Natasha managed to get a look at the inside of the room from a crack in the door frame.

Hélène stood with her back to the door, facing the fire. The flames casting a glow over her steely features. Long, slender fingers covered by dark lace gloves, plump shoulders covered by a deep green shawl, hair pulled into what would have been a ridiculously intricate style if there hadn't been curls falling out of their pins, the first sign something was wrong as Hélène would not have been caught dead without everything being perfect. Marya on the other hand was the picture of perfection, lips stained a deep red, skirts dancing against the wooden floor, the fabric the same shade of red, the two glasses of wine in her hands as she passes the other to Hélène finishes off the monochromatic image that is Marya.

"Your brother ruined my beloved goddaughter and yet you wish to speak reason to me," She's stopped shouting at Hélène now speaking in low deadly tone, "nothing you can say to me will make me forgive what your family has done to mine."

"Oh mon Cher, I thought we stopped caring about what our families did to us the moment I got married." Hélène replied like a poisonous flower, all grace and beauty with pure venom under her words.

"That was before your scoundrel of a brother drove Natasha to swallow arsenic, whatever fate your husband had for him can be no worse than what I have imagined myself doing to him if I ever meet him again." At her words Hélène visibly flinched before taking a drink of her wine to cover the action. Why the two women were even speaking to each other was a mystery to Natasha, the way they pointedly avoided mentioning Pierre's name even more so.

"Nothing you could ever do to Anatole could be worse than what my husband did to him," Surprisingly Natasha noticed a slight waver in her voice, a voice Natasha had always associated with being as cold as the ice itself, "my love-"

"I'm no longer your love Bezuchova"

Well that was something new.

"Don't say that name. Do not even mention that I am in anyway related to that man." Hélène almost growled, turning on her heel to stare Marya in the eye, pure venom in her eyes.

"I still don't get your hatred for your husband, he has done nothing to harm you." Marya's tone matched Hélène's in a way so deadly Natasha flinched from her place at the door.

"No I guess he hasn't"

"We have digressed from our original topic of discussion dear Countess, how your brother has ruined my goddaughter's life"

Hélène's shoulders slumped as she looked down at her feet, "My brother will no longer bother you or anyone else, _Pierre_ made sure of that".

"I'm sure he did. Did he send the stupid boy back off to Petersburg to have some sense put into him"

"No he-"

"Did he send him off back to fight in the war"

"Marya he-"

"Did he finally send-"

"Anatole is dead Marya."

Three things happened at once. Marya's glass fell to the floor, deep red wine splashing against the cream carpet. Hélène stumbled forwards, almost collapsing into Marya. Natasha gasped. No. No. He can't be dead. That's not possible. She'd heard Marya taking to Sonya earlier about how she'd been to see Pierre and told him to send Anatole away somewhere unknown to her. It was as she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that he was dead when she heard the next part of the story through Hélène's sobs.

"Pierre, he-he just took the paperweight to his head, just kept smashing it against him, the blood Marya, it's still there it's still on my hands" Natasha wasn't sure if she meant literally or if she was just doing a perfect impression of Lady Macbeth and she didn't particularly want to find out. She watched as Marya pulled back the lace gloves from Hélène's hands showing bloodstained fingers, creating a second pair of gloves under the lace.

Natasha could imagine it perfectly.

_Pierre's hand pinning Anatole to the desk, the other holding the paperweight above his head._

She thinks of the guilt in his eyes that afternoon.

_Bringing it down over and over again onto Anatole's face._

His large eyes smiling at her at the Opera.

_Anatole's screams high and desperate._

His hand on her waist at the ball.

_"Wha-no-no-Pierre-sto."_

His lips against hers at the ball.

_Hélène screaming and pulling Pierre off Anatole._

Hélène flinching at every mention of Pierre.

_Hélène holding her brother as he died in her arms._

Hélène with her arms covered in her brothers blood.

  
Natasha thinks of the man stood in their drawing room that afternoon, the way he'd held himself. Oh god. If he'd been here this afternoon, and they'd been discovered late last night and it was now nearing midnight how long had Anatole been dead? How long had Hélène held her brothers body? How long had she had his dried blood on her arms?

She can't hear any of Marya's words anymore, only her tone of voice which has lost all malice and sounds only comforting. She watches as Marya presses kisses to Hélène's forehead and tangles her fingers in the strings of pearls round her neck. She watches a moment so private, so raw with emotions, yet still so tender, the way Hélène looks up at Marya with tears in her eyes and presses their lips together. A small comfort in a cruel world.

Natasha stumbled back down the hall and collapsed onto her own bed. Anatole was dead. Truly dead. Anatole was dead and his brother-in-law was the killer. The same brother-in-law who had confessed his love for Natasha earlier in the day.

 

  
She didn't sleep one one moment through the night. She speculated about Marya and Hélène's relationship. The pet names. The way Marya had dropped to her knees to support Hélène. The comforting words. The kisses to the forehead.

Hélène was sat at their breakfast table in the morning her hand holding Marya's under the table, all blood washed off her hands, her cold exterior only melting when looking at the woman all in red next to her.

  
If Natasha was Juliet and Hélène was Lady Macbeth then Marya would be Shakespeare, possessing the ability to give them all their happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna be over here being salty about great comet closing.
> 
> Comments make my cold, dead hear sing.


End file.
